The evening air smelled of roses and champagne, the heady scent of luxury and romance drifting through the grand hall of the Laurent estate. Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in a soft, golden glow, casting dancing reflections against the polished marble floor. Vivian Ashford stood at the edge of the party, a vision of elegance in a crimson silk gown that clung to her curves like temptation itself. Every step she took was poised, practiced, the kind that made heads turn and hearts stammer.
But none of that mattered—not the attention, not the lavish setting, not the countless murmurs of admiration. All that mattered was him.
Julian Laurent.
He stood in the center of the ballroom, laughter slipping from his lips like music, his presence commanding without effort. Dark-haired, sharp-jawed, and effortlessly intoxicating, he was the kind of man who could destroy a woman with a glance. And for Vivian, he had been both ruin and salvation.
"Darling," his voice was smooth as silk, the faintest trace of amusement lacing his words as he reached for her hand, pulling her flush against him. "You've been watching me."
She tilted her chin up, meeting his deep, knowing gaze. "Shouldn't I? You're quite the spectacle."
A slow, wicked smile stretched across his lips. "Flatter me more, and I might have to steal you away from your own party."
"Wouldn't that be scandalous?" she teased, fingers curling against his chest, feeling the steady drum of his heart beneath expensive fabric.
"Maybe." His thumb grazed over her lower lip, his voice dropping to something darker. "But I've never been one to play by the rules."
Vivian's breath hitched, but before she could respond, a voice—smooth, sultry, and far too familiar—broke through the air like a blade hidden in velvet.
"Is it safe to interrupt, or shall I come back later?"
Aurora Sinclair.
Vivian turned just as Aurora glided toward them, the silver of her dress shimmering under the light, her beauty as striking as ever. Dark waves cascaded over her shoulders, framing the delicate features of a woman who knew how to own a room. A woman who knew how to command attention—especially Julian's.
Vivian's lips curled into a smile, masking the faintest flicker of unease. "Aurora," she greeted, warmth touching her tone. "I was starting to think you wouldn't make it."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Aurora purred, her eyes locking onto Julian's with a flicker of something unreadable. "Would I, Julian?"
A fleeting pause.
Vivian noticed it. It was barely a second—just a breath of hesitation before Julian's smirk returned, effortless as ever. "Of course not," he said smoothly, his hand slipping around Vivian's waist in silent reassurance. "I'm sure you wouldn't dare."
Aurora laughed, the sound rich and honeyed, but beneath it lay something sharp, something unreadable.
Vivian forced herself to relax. This was Aurora—her best friend, her sister in everything but blood, the one person who had stood by her through everything. There was nothing to fear. Nothing to doubt.
Their bond had been forged through years of laughter, whispered secrets, and late-night confessions. Aurora had been there when Vivian had her heart broken for the first time, had held her when she cried, had sworn that no man was worth their friendship. They had promised to stand by each other, no matter what.
So why did it feel like the air had shifted?
"Julian," Aurora mused, swirling the champagne in her glass, "I do hope you've been treating my dearest Vivian the way she deserves."
Julian chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of Vivian's head. "Always," he murmured, the warmth of his lips sending a familiar thrill down her spine.
Aurora's gaze lingered, just a second too long. Then, with a slow smile, she lifted her glass. "To love, then."
Vivian raised hers in return, letting their glasses clink with a soft chime. "To love."
And yet, as she sipped, as Julian's fingers tightened ever so slightly on her waist, as Aurora's lips curled with something she couldn't quite place—
Vivian couldn't shake the feeling that she had just toasted to something else entirely.
Something far more dangerous.
---
The night deepened, and the party shifted into something more intimate.
Vivian found herself in Julian's private suite, a luxurious expanse draped in silk and low-lit chandeliers, the world outside forgotten. His hands roamed her body like he was memorizing every inch, every curve, every soft gasp she made. The moment his lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, a shiver ran through her, a slow burn curling in the pit of her stomach.
"You're intoxicating," he murmured against her ear, his voice thick with desire.
She arched into him, her body betraying just how much she craved him. "Then take me, Julian."
The words barely left her lips before he had her pinned against the velvet chaise, his hands sliding up the slit of her dress, fingers tracing the heat pooling between her thighs. The need in his eyes was unmistakable, and when his lips crashed onto hers, it was fire—untamed, consuming.
The night stretched into a fever of whispered moans and tangled limbs, of pleasure and desperation. And in the quiet moments, when the fire had momentarily dulled, he brushed a thumb over her swollen lips, his gaze unreadable.
"You know you own me, don't you?" he murmured.
Vivian smiled, breathless. "And you own me."
But even as the words left her mouth, something in his expression flickered, just for a moment.
A whisper of something… hidden.
Something she wasn't ready to see.
Yet.